


Zhuangzi and the Butterfly

by crassenoughtocare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idk this isn't inception, It's the 21st century, M/M, No magic tops to tell you what is real, Or at least it might be.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crassenoughtocare/pseuds/crassenoughtocare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk has been dreaming. Increasingly vivid, the visions plague him at night and have even crept into the daylight hours.<br/>When he gets a new neighbor, his hold on reality starts to slip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_It's like being under water._

_Everything is a blur and he can't hear his own words._

_Every breath is agony. His head threatens to burst with every heart beat. His insides twist themselves, bowels full of nails. The world spins madly, and Jim Kirk is drowning._

_Just above the surface, a face swims into focus._

_Jim reaches out, and the stranger reaches back._

\---

Hours later, the dream is still crystal clear in his mind.

Though he doesn't feel like he's drowning now, of course, he remembers the fear, helplessness and inevitability of the situation bearing down on him all too well. 

And yet, he didn't feel alone in the dream. A weight settled in him, longing and sadness that couldn’t quite be buried ever since the first time he had the vision.

He shook his head, trying to stop dwelling on it. It was stupid, that wasn't a real person he knew or even had known. Some guy who kept showing up in his dreams, like one of those damn new age spirit guides or whatever they were called. Only seriously lame, and Jim’s had never offered mystical advice. 

The dreams had been going for weeks. Once or so a week at first, but lately they had been every night, blending in to each other. 

_Going to college dressed in a red uniform, a city that might have been San Francisco._

_Dragging his best friend through every situation he could get them into. A tattooed, shaved skull coiled inside an enormous spider. A gorgeous African girl who always rolled her eyes at him. Falling towards the desert, impossibly far away._

_Void. Stars. A gentle hum that comforted._

_A white room with an enormous window, full of people dressed in red and yellow and blue. And Jim at the center of it. Happier than he ever expected to be._

He stood up suddenly, not bothering to push his desk chair back in place as he made for the closet to find his old boots. _Fuck_ those dreams. They didn't make any god damn sense. No important lessons or metaphors, no psychic visions, just frighteningly vivid scenes that wouldn’t leave him.

Time to get out and clear his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long but trying to write human Spock makes me want to lie dramatically on the pavement and wait for death.

Outside the Iowa sun made a steam bath of the day, enveloping Jim in an almost tangible heat. Only May and already miserable. Fucking _Iowa._

He pulled the garage door open halfway, ducking inside. Sure, he could have gone through the door that connects the kitchen to the garage, but then he might have to deal with Frank. And the less they saw of each other, the better. 

Jim maneuvered the bike through the exit, his knuckles scraping the filthy black rubber that lined the bottom of the garage door. At the end of the short driveway he swung his leg over, pulling himself up on his bike, still unsure where he was going-

_Somewhere industrial to hand a stranger the keys_

-when he glanced up across the street. 

The bottom of Jim's stomach dropped out. He felt the blood drain from his face. And oh god maybe those dreams _do_ mean something because it was _him_. The man he's dreamed about, who stayed with him as he died. He was real. He was here, alive, and carrying boxes to the curb. 

He was Jim's spirit guide, and he was moving in across the street, and wearing a long sleeved shirt in 97 degree weather. 

Before his mind had time to process options, Jim was off his bike, pocketing the keys as he raised his hand in greeting. 

"Hey," he called, his voice sounding tight and unnatural to his own ears. A smile spread across his face automatically, Jesus what was his problem? He never got anxious about meeting people. The guy had probably moved in a day ago, Jim saw his face for a split second, and only remembered it subconsciously. That made some sense, and reality settled into place.

His new neighbor and potential spirit guide looked up, nodding politely in return. 

"Hello," and Jim _knew_ that voice. He had heard it a thousand times. But he forcefully ignored the déjà vu, and met him at the curb, sticking out his hand with a smile.  
"Afternoon, I'm Jim Kirk."  
"Spock Greyson."  
"Spock? Great name," he said as he let go of Spock's hand, somehow feeling strange that he ever touched it in the first place. Spock regarded him silently, only exacerbating the awkwardness of the situation for Jim. What was he supposed to say to the guy? ‘I’ve dreamed of you. _Extensively._ ’ 

“So, you new in town or-” 

“Yes, my family and I moved from San Francisco. Are you in school here?” Spock spoke to him like random strangers engaging him and staring intensely at his features wasn’t uncommon. Jim couldn’t help himself, it was all just so eerie. 

“Yeah, I’ll be a senior. You?” Did Spock have pointed ears? Jim couldn’t tell. He couldn’t quite focus on them. 

“The same. I haven’t heard much about -” but Spock’s words were lost on him. The world was shifting, vibrating, revealing fuchsia behind the seams of everything. Spock reached for him, concern in his black eyes, but the ground was twisting away from Jim, taking reality with it.

\---

And then the world washed back over him. The floor beneath his bare feet was smooth and cool, a faint hum just barely detectible. Jim found himself in a long, white corridor, curving away from him, lit brilliantly. His shoulder tingled, as if it were full of tiny, bright bubbles. ‘ _The Enterprise,_ ’ he thought. Of course. Where else would he be?

Oh, shit, had they left the planet yet? _Planet, no, moon, which one?_ He should be there, he had to be. Jim surged forward, moving slowly, as if he were running through water. And then he moved through a door before he saw it coming, and found himself in the white, familiar room that looked into the void. Faces turned toward him, of green, brown, golden flame. Spock was there. For a moment Jim marveled, but of course Spock was there. He always would be. His first officer. 

Spock stood, saying something in a language Jim didn’t speak, words spilling from his lips in silver streams, wisps fading into the air. Jim turned towards the void, Spock’s voice still floating across his vision. Outside, no longer void, but stars. Streaking past, white, then red and green and gold and the entire spectrum of visible light. 

The fabric of the universe. Slipping between the seams. The Enterprise faded around him, leaving Jim to experience the awesome truth alone. Even Jim had begun to slip away, molecules and atoms and quarks joining with space-time, until someone gripped his arm, and drove a golden sword through his neck.

\---

Something wet and cool was draped across his forehead.  
Where was he? He opened his eyes, an off-white textured ceiling looking back at him.

“Do you have a history of epilepsy, or seizures?” Jim bolted upright, the pink washcloth flopping down his face before he could catch it. Spock stood on the other side of a coffee table, cell phone held in his hand, ready to dial, or hit send. 

“What? No, I mean no seizures, or anything.” And he did feel better. Reality hadn’t moved back around him, he had simply come back into it. Jim surveyed his surroundings, feeling the threads of the couch cushion beneath his fingers, simple, geometric furniture placed around the room. Nothing on the walls, just boxes stacked in the corner. “So, you dragged me to your house?” 

“No, actually, I broke into a stranger’s house to steal their washcloths,” Spock replied, slightly raised eyebrows the only indication he was joking. Jim chuckled to himself, dropping his head to hand, heat rising in his cheeks.  
“Stupid question, sorry. I must be making one hell of an impression on you.” Spock shrugged, setting his phone down on the table as he took a seat across from Jim. 

“Yes, but not necessarily a negative one.” 

“Jesus, you must have had some terrible first impressions in the past, then.” 

“No one has ever fainted in front of me before, though in this heat it’s highly understandable. I thought Iowa might be cooler, but,” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Welcome to the midwest.” Spock smiled, corners of his mouth lifting slightly. 

“You would think someone who was used to the climate might be used to it.” Jim threw the washcloth at him, the damp ball slumping into Spock’s hands. 

“Says the guy in the long sleeved shirt.” Jim nodded at Spock’s choice of clothing, blue-grey Henley completely out of place in the summer. 

“It’s perfectly acceptable for the temperature inside, and I do have a high tolerance for heat.” _Of course he did, he’s from the desert._

“Whatever man, it’s weird. Let’s see you spend any decent amount of time outside and live, Jim pointed towards the window for emphasis, but Spock’s eyes never left him, one brow raised.

“You would leave me out to die in the heat? Fine, see if I help you the next time you get heat exhaustion.” 

“I did not get heat exhaustion,” he protested, though what options that left were places he did not want to let his mind go to. “But, um, thanks. For helping me out. Promise I won’t be dropping on you anymore.” 

Spock shook his head, folding the washcloth and pressing it between his hands, making eye contact with Jim’s knees. 

“No, it was nothing, no one would have just left you.” Jim shrugged, curling his fingers over the edge of the couch. 

“Probably, it’s just-” I’m not used to it, he wanted to say. “Thanks.” For the first time the silence between them felt comfortable. An idea occurred to Jim, from where he wasn’t sure, but somehow he knew how Spock would respond. 

“Hey, do you like chess?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want visual inspiration for Kirk tripping out on the bridge:
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbLRzabppus

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Dying of acute radiation poisoning sucks.


End file.
